The Mistake
He left his pants upon a chair:
She was a widow, so she said:
But he was apprehended, bare,
By one who rose up from the dead.
Theodore Roethke
Born: May 25, 1908 Died: August 1, 1963
Theodore Huebner Roethke (IPA: ['ɹ ɛ t.ki]; RET-key) (25 May 1908 – 1 August 1963) was an American poet who published several volumes of poetry characterized by their rhythm and natural imagery. He was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1954 for his book, The Waking.
Biographical information from: Wikiquote
Alternative Names for Theodore Roethke
Formal name - Full ceremonial or official name including titles and honorifics:
- Theodore Huebner Roethke (English (en))
Nothing would give up life:
Even the dirt keeps breathing a small breath.
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View Plansفي أزمنة الظلام، تبدأ العينُ بالرؤية
I fear those shadows most that start from my own feet.
I trust all joy
Is there a wisdom in objects? Few objects praise the Lord.
(I measure time by how a body sways.)
Brooding on God, I may become a man.
Perhaps no person can be a poet, or even can enjoy poetry, without a certain unsoundness of mind.
My father is a fish.
from <strong>The Auction</strong>
I left my home with unencumbered will
And all the rubbish of confusion sold.
"Fourth Meditation"
1
I was always one for being alone,
Seeking in my own way, eternal purpose;
At the edge of the field waiting for the pure moment;
Standing, silent, on sandy beaches or walking along green embankments;
Knowing the sinuousness of small waters:
As a chip or shell, floating lazily with a slow current...
Was it yesterday I stretched out the thin bones of my innocence?
O the songs we hide, singing only to ourselves!
Once I could touch my shadow, and be happy;
In the white kingdoms, I was light as a seed,
Drifting with the blossoms,
A pensive petal.
But a time comes when the vague life of the mouth no longer suffices;
The dead make more impossible demands from their silence;
The soul stands, lonely in its choice,
Waiting, itself a slow thing,
In the changing body.
The river moves, wrinkled by midges,
A light wind stirs in the pine needles.
The shape of a lark rises from a stone;
But there is no song.
The darkness has it's own light.
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View Plansالرجل يرى وهو يحتضر
احتمالات الموت
قلبي يتأرجح مع العالم
وقد صرتُ ذلك الشيء الأخير
رجلٌ يتعلم الغناء
The Surly One
1
When true love broke my heart in half,
I took the whisky from the shelf,
And told my neighbors when to laugh.
I keep a dog, and bark myself.
2
Ghost cries out to ghost –
But who’s afraid of that?
I fear those shadows most
That start from my own feet.